


Perhaps

by wisia



Category: DCU
Genre: Damian Wayne Centric, Drama, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian Wayne doesn't like Tim Drake. That is a given. However, when a not dead Janet Drake comes to him asking for help to find her son, Damian might just change his mind. There's nothing more forceful and scary than a mother to raise hell. Or to finally like Tim Drake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rahn (Rahndom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/gifts).



> This was for Ran’s Birthday Big Bang last year which I didn’t finish. This is again for Ran’s Birthday but this year I’ve actually completed it. So, I hope rahndom enjoys it because I tried. Uh, please don’t count this as cheating? Since it’s only like 40% new? Um, happy birthday.
> 
> Thank you very much for cornflakepizza for looking this over. She was super awesome, and she helped me looked it over last year as well when I posted it uncompleted. Thank you also to varevare and fweeble for looking over my transition/flow in the last half of the fic. You guys are all awesome. Full of awesomesauce. Also, any mistakes left are mine. Please excuse them....I tried.
> 
> By the way, the post that contained the uncompleted version of this fic has now been deleted as well, including the copy on AO3. If you’re looking for it for some reason. Also, the title is based off Cake’s “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps”.
> 
> Extra Notes: I will probably be adding one or two more fics to this verse when I have the time/inspiration for it. Mostly, explaining Janet’s revival, where Tim was while this whole thing was going on, how did Tim and Damian reconcile and fall for each other, and so forth. This counts as a “verse”, so it’s also open for prompts like all my other verses are. And I’m starting to feel like all my notes are going to be this freaking long, sorry.
> 
> Warnings: None, I think. [But you should know this is very Damian Centric. Also involves Janet Drake quite a bit. The Damian/Tim is minimal and at the end of fic. So, don’t read if it’s not your thing.]

                 It was summer, and the heat swelled in Gotham like a blister waiting to be popped. A warm wind blew across the city, and every exposed surface scorched despite an entire night that was only just now turning to dawn. Damian Wayne, still Robin at twenty because he had yet to decide on a new design and name to suit his adulthood, rested on top of an old surly gargoyle. Sweat tickled the back of his neck as he tried to ignore the heat and keep an eye out for crime, but Gotham was still and quiet. No one wanted to spare the energy for a crime in this temperature saved for the desperate or the insane and stupid.

                “How about we call it a day, hm?” Richard “Dick” Grayson’s voice crackled way too cheerfully through the communicator in Damian’s ear. “We can get ice cream.”

                "We're not done yet," Damian objected. He didn’t bother pointing out that no ice cream shop would even be open at this hour. Grayson always managed to find some way or another to procure the cool treat. It was frankly astonishing, and Damian might have been just a little afraid to ask how.

 "There's still two hours left,” Damian continued as he scanned around for any suspicious activity. There was nothing however to Damian’s dismay.

                "There's nothing going on though," Dick said. "We can go early this once. Lighten up, R."

                "Tt," Damian sounded off. He rolled his eyes, secured in the fact that Grayson wasn't able to witness the childish action. "Two more hours. You can wait."

                "Yeah, but there’s nothing going on!" Dick protested, dramatic and lively. "Seriously. There was only one perp--okay, maybe two--tonight and--"

                "Fine," Damian said and narrowed his eyes. There was movement below him. Odd. This was an abandoned church, and the usual druggies had already staggered off.

                "--okay. Fine. That's gre--wait, what?"

                "Fine as in you can leave," Damian hissed quietly into his communicator. He watched as someone in dark clothing entered the building opposite of him.

                "What? Really?" Dick's voice was doubtful as if he couldn't believe Damian would let him go. As if Damian wouldn't mind him leaving early.

                "Yes!" Damian said forcefully. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "I see something. I'm going to check it out."

                He shot a line into the crevice he was in. Damian tested it, mindful of his weight and how much the stone could bear. Then he stepped off, letting gravity drop him toward the ground.

                "Do you need--"

                "And no," Damian interrupted before Grayson could finish. "I don't require back up. If I do I'll let you know."

                Dick sighed. "All right. I'll see you back at the cave. I'm going to bother..."

                Damian could practically hear Grayson chose his next victim. He had seen it too many times before to not know how Grayson would act.

                "B!" Dick proclaimed. Damian stifled a groan. Grayson's antics could be more trouble than it was worth at times. Several feet down the building, Damian jammed his foot against the side of the wall, entering into a slightly jerky stop. He turned his head and pressed a button on the side of his mask. Immediately, his vision was dominated by colors tracking heat. The figure was still there. Damian switched the mask off and searched for a window.

                The one above the entrance wasn't feasible. He hated old buildings as useful as they were for lines compared to the modern sleek towers. They could crumble at any time, and Damian just knew that would be a death trap. So, he shot another line to a relatively safer section and swung to the left side of the building. There was a window he could access on the second floor if Damian remembered correctly, and he was, of course, right like usual. Damian cracked it open, crawling into an office. He muffled a sneeze at the dust and grimaced at all the dirt that clung to him. He hurried down to the first floor. It was probably another druggie, but it was something to do. However, Damian didn't expect to be smacked in the face by a door when he reached it.

                He groaned and pushed the door away frowning. It wasn’t a swing door, but Damian also didn’t have time to register what kind of door it was exactly as he was already rushing off. Damian barely caught the legs of the person turning around the corner. By the time, he got there though -- the person was gone. Damian checked with his heat sensors again, but it was all cool colors. A mutant or--

                Something fluttered down to him. A single sheet of paper that read:

                _Aren't you forgetting something?_

*************

                The heat in Gotham was still unforgiving. In fact, it was much worse now because the clouds covered the skies in thick grey sheets. The humidity rocketed upward to a point of suffocation. It didn't help that the apartment Damian shared with Colin Wilkes had no air conditioner since it broke. It was entirely unacceptable, and Damian couldn't think through the needlessly high temperature. However, Damian preferred being here compared to the manor. Not that he would tell Wilkes, of course.

                "This is atrocious," Damian complained as he fanned himself with a piece of paper. "How can it possibly take two hours for a repairman to show up?"

                "He probably has other places to go too," Colin said reasonably. He was flopped over the table, face pressed into the cool wood as he listened to Damian. Even Titus was a lump against Colin’s leg, tongue sticking out. He was just as hot as his human was.

                "Tt," Damian said. He was on his laptop, studying something intently. "More like harassing a female ineptly."

                Colin groaned and raised his head briefly to pin one open eye at Damian. "You're tracking him on your laptop, aren't you?"

                "I'm not. Would I really stoop so low as to--"

                "Yes," Colin said bluntly and plopped his head back down. "You would."

                Damian bristled, but Colin went on before he could say something rude.

                "Let me take a look at that note." Colin gestured to the piece of paper that was Damian's make shift fan. Tried as he might, Damian couldn't make heads or tails of the words. If it was a riddle, the Riddler had better senses and rhymes.

                "It's stupid," Damian groused and passed it over to Colin. “I’m inclined to believe it is nothing more than a goose chase.”

                "Well, _are_ you forgetting anything?" Colin fanned himself with the paper. He had effectively stole Damian's salvation from the heat.

                "I don't believe so," Damian replied. He spared a glance around the apartment. It was mostly clean. Though that was more on Colin's part and his nagging that since Pennyworth wasn't here, it was Damian's job. "Everything's here."

                He had catalogued and counted everything four times. Damian even told Grayson who checked the cave, but everything was accounted for. It didn't help that the paper could be bought anywhere and was printed by a common printer. It was a mystery.

                "Are you sure you're not forgetting, maybe, something else that isn't an item?"

                "Yes." Damian reached over and snagged the note back from Colin's sticky fingers. "The note's only worth is this."

                He fanned the paper vigorously. It provided only a little relief, but Damian would take what he could get. Perhaps, they should head to the Manor after all. It would be much cooler. Additionally, Pennyworth might have made some of his delicious treats.

                "Hm," Colin said. His eyes were closed, obviously just as worn out from the heat as Damian was. "I want ice cream, Dami."

                "There's some in the fridge," Damian sighed and returned to tapping away at his laptop. The repairman had moved onto another lady. He predicted viciously that he would get slapped.

                "Really?" Colin's head popped up so fast he had to wince at the speed. Damian nodded.

                "You didn't buy it, did you?" Colin guessed. Because Damian rarely shopped. Not with the paparazzi on him now that he was of age and popular enough to be included in the top sexiest men twenty five and under list. Well, that and the fact that Damian hated shopping. He would leave it all to Wilkes’ happy face and pleasure.

                "Grayson did." Because Damian was right. Somehow or another, the man managed to obtain the cool treat after patrol. He fostered off two pints of them onto Damian, saying Damian needed to eat more.

                "I love him," Colin declared and dug his spoon into the open carton without using a bowl. He hummed happily around the mouthful of delicious ice cream and spoon.

                "You and everyone on this planet," Damian muttered under his breath. Then he eyed Colin's ice cream covetously. That did look delicious.

                 "Give me some," he demanded, a hand out.

                Colin hugged his carton protectively as he huddled up into the counter behind him. As if that would stop Damian. "No."

                "Wilkes," Damian intoned as menacingly as he could. "Hand that over."

                Colin stuck his tongue out at him, eyes brightening up mischievously. That, Damian didn't like. "Not going to work. I’m immune to your scary face. And why don't you ask _Tim_?"

                Damian willed his face blank. "He's busy."

                "Right," Colin said in faux disbelief. "You just don't want to ask him because it's _him_."

                "Wilkes!"

                Colin looked at him innocently, as if he wasn’t suggesting what he was. "What? You don't have a prideful, I'm a Wayne thing going on?"

                But he opened the freezer and took out the other carton of ice cream as Damian glared at him.

                "Of course, I have pride. I _am_ a Wayne," Damian said snootily and caught the carton as Colin chucked it at him in frustration.

“That’s not what I meant,” Wilkes huffed. “Your stupid pride keeps you asking for help when you need it.”

“I know very well what you meant,” Damian responded as Colin took out a spoon and checked the drawer close with his hip. “And I _ask_ you for help.”

“Really? You ask _me_ for _help_? Yeah, right.” Wilkes said and threw the spoon at him as well. “And just ask him.”

“Tt.” Damian shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and promptly choked at Colin's next words.

                "Spend some time with the person you like."

**********

                Damian ended up going over to Drake's anyway. Because the cave didn't yield anything useful, and even Grayson couldn't figure out the note. It was _not_ because Damian liked Tim as Colin suggested. How could he like the man when Damian wasn't even treated decently by him?

                "Drake, hurry up and open the door!" Damian knocked on the door again, waiting impatiently. He was practically melting in the heat which was absurd. Damian did not spend his early years in a desert to be defeated by Gotham's less impressive heat. He rang the doorbell again.

                "Drake, open the door!"

                The man should be home. Damian had checked the schedule. It was a rare off day for Drake, and he _wasn't_ answering the doorbell. Damian shifted uncomfortably as people passed by. That one with the disgusting mustache better not be a reporter. After a few more minutes, Damian muttered quietly to himself as he turned away from the doorstep, "I'm going to do something terrible to your files."

                He took the hidden underground entrance, located two streets over. However, upon entering the garage, Damian realized something was off. He looked around the consoles warily. Drake wasn't in sight, and all the machines were on a low hum, all programs and tech in sleep mode. His skin prickled from the coolness of the place and—

                “It took you long enough,” a voice said from above. Damian stared even as he shifted into a defensive position.

                “Well, boy? Say something.”

                Damian stepped carefully forward, quickly calculating the fastest route up to the higher level to take down the intruder. Because this person couldn’t be real. It had to be a trick.

                “You sent me the note,” Damian said stalling for time. He also suppressed his annoyance at being called a boy.

                “I did.” And Janet Drake smiled wickedly, every inch the woman she was before she was buried and then some. It wasn’t a mistake on who the intruder was supposed to be. Damian had committed those photos to memory when he looked up everything available on Drake’s younger years. His grandfather had a disturbingly large and well organized collection. It was sickening to think that this stranger would take something so beloved to Drake and wear her face.

                “So, _you_ are Damian Wayne,” Janet said, appraising him.

                “Yes,” Damian said tightly, “and you’re supposed to be dead.”

                He rushed up, using the varying heights of the consoles and machines to jump his way to her. Janet’s eyes widened in surprise, but she managed to move out of range.

                “You,” she said angrily.

                “How dare you wear her face,” Damian said, bringing his hand down. The woman turned, and he was knocked off guard as a sweep of her leg nearly sent him careening over the rail.

                “Touching,” Janet sniped. “But seeing as it’s my own, I think I dare.”

                “Lies,” Damian said. She matched each and every one of his strikes. “Janet Drake doesn’t know how to fight.”

                “Don’t presume to know me.”

                “Don’t presume I’ll believe a dead woman,” Damian shot back, finally forcing her down to her knees. The mad woman bit him, hard enough that Damian had to let go. She stood a safe distance away from him. She didn’t even look one bit ruffled.

                “What proof would you take?” Janet asked, holding her arm out meaningfully. “I can give assurance.”

                Damian frowned. He was sure he could subdue her but something told him to take a chance. His mother was insistent that Damian learned to trust his instincts when needed, and strangely Damian felt it here.

                "Acceptable," Damian assented. "If you would..."

                He gestured toward the section of Drake's lab where he could take a blood sample. Janet stalled a little in following Damian.

                "However, I have conditions before we do this."

                “Are you in any state to request a thing?”

                “I can easily disappear,” Janet replied. “If I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t have bothered. Besides…don’t you wish to know what has happened to Tim?”

                Damian gritted his teeth. That was…

                “What did you do to him?”

                “How sweet,” Janet mocked. “It’s as if you love him. My conditions first, boy.”

                "Name them," Damian conceded and watched Janet's face carefully for any tells that might give away that this woman wasn't Janet Drake as she claimed. There were some old videos that served for a small template, Damian recalled vaguely.

                "It must only be you," Janet listed. "No one else from your family can know, and if you have need to tell we will discuss it first. I'm not keen on dragging that idiot father of yours into this."

                Damian paused and decided he disliked the woman. If she was truly Janet Drake, it was a disappointment. He had wondered before on Drake's lineage, noting that Janet Drake's name was still widely renowned in certain business circles. Even his mother had praised the woman in scathing tones.

                "My father is not an idiot," Damian said crossly, "but those are acceptable terms."

                "He is," Janet said, sitting down on the proffered chair. Damian withdrew the necessary equipment. He had been poked by Drake far too many times before and thus knew exactly where they were.

                "Is this all you require?" Janet asked, eyeing the items with distaste.

                "For now," Damian said, arranging the slides and vials neatly. Janet held out her arm.

                 "Here. Be quick about it. I’m in a hurry, and I would hate to be slowed down by you."

                Damian bit back the urge to scream as he efficiently collected her blood. He almost hoped the test would prove wrong so he could relish strangling her and that infuriating smile. All the tests came up clear though, and Damian had ran them all three times. Pity. He had even checked that Janet hadn't forged her DNA somehow.

                "You _are_ Janet Drake," Damian declared sullenly and started cleaning up the equipment briskly. "Pray tell, how are you alive and bothering me?"

                "Blame your grandfather." Janet's eyes flashed angrily. "He is the most damning man I have ever met."

                "You preach," Damian said, all too aware of the idiosyncrasy and complexity that shrouded Ra's al Ghul. "Why did he bring you back?”

                “Leverage,” Janet shrugged her shoulders carelessly. “Not that it matters now.”

                “Does Drake know?”

                “If not, would I be here? My son is anything but a fool.” There was a disturbingly fond smile on her lips.

                Point, Damian begrudgingly thought and frowned. He couldn’t believe that Drake did not see fit to inform him of his mother’s return to life. He also ignored the disappointment that shot through his gut all because Drake didn’t tell him. Damian thought they were much more amicable compared to the animosity of before. Surely, Drake could have trusted Damian enough to say something.

                “What was the meaning behind your note?” Damian put his mind to instead. “What am I forgetting?”

                “My son,” and Janet Drake stood, height almost levelled with Damian’s own. Her eyes were steel.

                “Your son,” Damian repeated blankly.

                “Yes, him. My son whose rear you’ve been ogling for the past month.”

                “I have not been ogling anything of his,” Damian denied, unable to will the flush on his cheeks away. It didn’t show well against his tanned flesh, but Damian could still feel it. Then, the heat was gone as abruptly as it had settled as Damian turned Janet’s words over in his head.

                “Tim…,” he considered. He had last seen Drake two weeks ago at the Manor. Drake had been cornered in the kitchen by Pennyworth. He was too thin for Pennyworth’s (and privately his) liking.

                “…is missing,” Damian concluded with a surprise. Janet’s lips twitched slightly.

                “He is. Really, I can’t understand my son’s faith in you.”

                “Your statement was so cryptic that it might as well not be a clue,” Damian growled. Though he couldn’t help but preened slightly inside at that (that Tim had faith in him) even if he was appalled that Tim had gone missing without his notice. He should have caught that even before the note. Clearly, Damian wasn’t as vigilant in his task about following Tim’s itinerary and such. He vowed to resolve that.

                Janet looked Damian up and down carefully, eyes accounting every bit of Damian’s appearance.

                “But you will have to do,” Janet said as if it killed her to do so. “I need you to find my wayward son.”

                “You have to give me more if I’m to find Drake.”

                "Food first," Janet said. "There's no sense in doing things on an empty stomach."

                Damian opened his mouth to argue because time was of essence when tracking someone who has been kidnapped, but closed it as his traitorous stomach grumbled in agreement. He apologized silently to Drake.

                "Fine," Damian said. "What do you want?"

                He could try to be somewhat polite to Drake's mother. It was still a bitter thing to know that the infamous Janet Drake was this woman. And Drake had spoken so warmly of her too.

                "I can cook some," Janet considered.

                "And have you poison me? I think not. I'm ordering out."

                Damian took over Drake's computers and pulled up a selection of menus on the screen, searching for a decent twenty four hour eatery that deliver.

                "You're too good for poison," Janet returned. "I really can't understand what my son sees in you--stop there."

                Damian stopped involuntarily and felt annoyed for stopping without thought. Janet studied the menu.

                "That will do," Janet said. "Antonio's is always excellent."

                "I don't care for Italian." Damian flipped past the menu.

                "What a shame," Janet said in a not so sorry tone. "I've already placed the call."

                And sure enough it was ringing.

                "Hello. This is Antonio's. How may we..."

                Damian glared at her. When did she? How did she figured out which buttons to press? Janet looked back at him with a predatory smile.

                "Yes," Janet said curtly. "I'll like to place an order for..."

                Damian was going to kill Drake. His mother was insufferable. After he murdered his grandfather first. He was the idiot who brought her back.

                "You are very rude," Damian said when Janet had ended the call.

                "I could say the same of you," Janet responded. "Now to business. Tim has been missing for a week now."

                "How do you know he's not undercover?"

                Drake did that from time to time. He could spend a month, completely immersed in character. Damian recalled one memorable occasion when Drake had dressed as a female escort. His father had thrown a fit on that, but Drake was quite fetching in that red short skirt, all long legs and charm. That was an illuminating experience.

                "He would have said so if he had, wouldn't he?"

                "True," because that was so. Drake wasn't irresponsible to abandon his public duties as Tim Wayne. Not without proper warning and scheduling anyway.

                "Indeed." Janet arched an eyebrow. "So, please refrain from being stupid and making equally stupid comments. It really worries me that you are who I must rely on to find my son."

                "You--if you want me to find Drake cease with the insults. I will not be disparaged while I help you find your idiotic son."

                "Please," Janet said with a slight snort. "You carry a torch for him. You would look even if I brought the matter to somebody else."

                "I do not carry a torch for your son!" Damian protested, indignant. He could admit he found Drake pleasing to the eye, and his company wasn't so bad now that they weren't at each other's throat, but this? That was preposterous.

                "Don't lie to me, boy." Janet's eyes narrowed. "Unlike my son, I know the difference between friendliness and flirtations. I've seen your interactions. Thank heaven he can be so oblivious."

                "I do not like him in that manner. Now, can we please continue and have you tell me something useful?" Damian didn't understand why everyone was so insistent upon him liking Drake. He blamed Wilkes.

                "Say what you will," Janet shrugged. "I have my eyes on you. Now, as I've said. He has been missing for a week. From what I could gather from his cameras, there was a fight of some sorts. He was taken then."

                "Who was he fighting against?"

                "I don't know," Janet said, uncertainty bleeding into her voice. "Those men were not the men he was after. Everything is on his machines if you would like to take a look."

                "I would," Damian said, forehead creasing together in puzzlement. They had to be impressive for them to steal Drake away. It was rare anyone could get the drop on him nowadays. Damian knew he should have stuck a locator chip on Drake instead of waiting. Asking for permission was clearly a foolish sentiment.

                "Then I will show you tomorrow," Janet decided. "It's already rather late."

                "I have a meeting tomorrow," Damian pointed out, and he was glad for it. He didn't think he could stand another minute in this harpy's presence. Even, Allah help him, fatgirl was better company. "It runs for at least half day."

                "You do not," Janet countered. She put a hand up to keep Damian from speaking. "Don't argue. My son keeps stupid tabs on everyone, and yours is constantly updated. Your schedule is always open--I took the liberty of cancelling your meeting. It has been moved to the fifth of next month."

                Damian couldn't help the flutter he felt inside at that, even as he was outraged that the woman edited his schedule. Drake kept an eye on his schedule? That was rather---

                "Don't make those eyes," Janet said sharply.

                "What?"

                "I can see you. With hearts all around you in the air." Janet jabbed at the air around Damian viciously as if she could pop one of the aforementioned hearts. "Just because you heard Tim keeps track of you."

                Damian's jaw dropped. "I do not!"

                "I won't have you for a son-in-law," Janet replied starkly. She got up as the doorbell sounded from above into the lab. "That must be dinner. I'll get it."

                Damian bristled as she went and went gracefully too. That was irritating.

                "If I want Drake, you can't stop me."

                "Can't I?" Janet called back to him over her shoulder. "I'm his mother, and Tim has _always_ been a good boy."

                And if Damian fumed throughout his fettuccine alfredo, it was nobody's business but his. He was going to have words with Drake when he found him. As if Janet could stop him from seeing Drake if he wanted. He was Damian Wayne!

**************

                "Here," Janet directed, waving at the computers. Damian had spent the night in one of Drake's spare bedrooms. He also apologized to Colin for not letting him know that he would not be home that night. Wilkes was a worried wart, and it was best to cut it off before Wilkes smothered him with questions about his whereabouts. Damian strode towards the screen on the left instead of the main one in the center.

                "You've been here often."  Janet had a look of consternation on her face at the ease in which Damian moved in the lab, and he couldn't help but feel smug.

                "Many times," Damian confirmed. “I did draw your blood last night if you recall."

                Then Damian huffed as he directed his attention once more on the computer. Drake's preferences was frankly unacceptable in Damian's mind.  It was true that most people would aim for the main console, believing that to hold the bigger hoard of information, and Tim was wise in deviating from that…but to have such an obvious preference was idiotic.

                "I see," Janet said blankly.

                "Is that?" Damian lifted a large mug that was sitting on top of one unit. It was a large black cup that sported the Robin insignia on it. Drake had gifted one to every Robin, including Damian. Not that Damian would admit to using his on occasion. He frowned disapprovingly at the mug. "He could have electrocuted himself with this."

                "You know my son quite well," Janet observed, expression unreadable.

                "That's why you came to me," Damian said. He set the cup down, after clearing out some space on the desk. He was not going to get himself fried from a half empty cup of coffee. It would be an utterly idiotic way to end, and he wasn’t an imbecile. Damian wrinkled his nose. For all that Drake was organized, he could also be unbelievably messy.

                "Unfortunately," Janet muttered. "I still won't have you as a son-in-law."

                "I told you," Damian said, annoyed. "I am not interested in your daft son. Why would I love someone who could kill himself in this mess?"

                Honestly. The more Damian looked around, the more dangers he saw in the place. It was a wonder Drake was still living if he didn't have Damian to push him. He switched on the monitors, turning on the system while steadily ignoring Janet's short defense of her son.

                "I don't suppose," Damian said to Janet over his shoulder when everything was on and the login screen showed up, "you would know his password."

                "You think he doesn't trust me?" Janet said, coming forward.

                "I did not say that."

                "You thought it," Janet pointed out and leaned in sideways to tap at the keys. Damian did think it. Because he still didn't quite believe this woman was Janet Drake. Drake surely couldn't be stupid enough to give her his total trust.

                "Here," Janet said briskly. The login screen slid away, and Damian was immediately granted access. He noted with approval that Drake was cautious and not an imbecile just because his mother was alive again. Damian tapped in a sequence, bringing in the proper and rightful screen. He noted that Janet hadn't lied, and Drake truly was keeping tabs on everyone. If Damian felt a little mollified by his tab being the largest and on top, well...he was.

                Damian pulled up the footage and watched. There was only a few minutes of it, and--

                "The cams were cut?" He said in surprise. That usually didn’t happen, not with their equipment.

                "They were cut," Janet confirmed. She drummed her fingers nervously on the back of Damian's chair. "And the images as you can see aren't that clear, but Tim told me the area always had inadequate lines."

                "Hm....," Damian made a mental note to acquire some buildings in the area through Wayne Enterprises. That wouldn't happen again if he could help it. He rewound the tape and watched it again several times before finally selecting a frame to pause on. Damian enlarged the still and studied it.

                "This is problematic," Damian had to admit after staring at the still for fifteen minutes and fiddling with it.

                "What do you mean?" Janet asked. "You cannot identify them?"

                "No," Damian said. "And this is the clearest--"

                "So you're not going to be able to find my son?" Janet demanded to know. She stood up, ready to pace in worry and anxiety.

                "You cut me off before I could finish speaking," Damian said. "I will need to go to the site myself. I was planning to go regardless because there may be some clues I could pick up there."

                "I--I see." Janet swallowed hard, and Damian felt a modicum of something for her. He got up and grasped her arm gently, tugging her into the chair he had vacated. Only because Drake wouldn't like it if he left his mother in pieces. Janet collapsed into it with a sigh.

                "I did not imagine this," Janet said, not looking at Damian. "That I would need to worry on this."

                "That Drake is a...," Damian paused slightly to choose the term carefully, "a defender of the public against crime?"

                Janet laughed lightly. "Yes, that. I thought Jack would have--Tim was meant to go into the business."

                "But it went bankrupt," Damian said, reviewing the history in his head.

                "I'm not surprised," Janet said and sighed again. "It really was my company even if Jack started it. He never did have the business acumen to keep it afloat. He was far better at digging things up than keeping a company in shape."

                Damian could see that, and his skin crawled. This was heading into uncomfortable territory that Damian did not want to deal with.

                "I believe," Damian said awkwardly. "I will visit the site myself tonight."

*****************

                Damian crouched down low, inconspicuous in the dark and blending in. It was another quiet night in Gotham, and Father was on a business trip. Grayson, thankfully, didn't ask any questions on why he wanted to take this particular patrol route. He was also thankful that Janet didn't ask to come along, but she wasn't stupid either. She had no place creeping and crawling around in the dirt even if she did want to find her son. Wait…how was it that she knew how to counter his attacks? Damian shelved that away in his mind for later.

                The summer heat was still in full effect, and Damian could feel sweat slicking down his forehead and his armpits already. He ignored the gross sensation and focused on his whereabouts. The site was a typical warehouse that was old and abandoned. If there was ever a cliché, it was here. The air was full of salt, close by the waters of one of Gotham's smaller ports. He busied himself with looking for clues.

                Damian found where the cables had been cut to the cams. It was neat and clean. Typical, and it wouldn't indicate much except that they were cut.

                "Get over here," Damian heard someone hiss, and he went still.

                "I _am_ getting over there," another person grumbled. His footsteps were loud and hard as if he was stomping at being told what to do.

                "Yeah, well--we ain't wasting time here."

                They were thugs, and Damian wondered if he could spook them away and continue searching. He put the cut cables in his hand down carefully, returning them as they were and fixing a millimeter that was off place. As he did that, the men kept a running commentary.

                "Give her a light, willya?"

                "Knock yourself out."

                There was a smack against palm as the zippo was presumably tossed and caught. The scent of cigarette smoke filled the air, strong and heavy in the heat.

                "Where are we moving these?"

                "Hell if I know. Dump 'em in the river."

                "Give me that thingy."

                "It's a mop, dumbass."

                More shuffling sounds, and Damian couldn't turn a blind eye to that statement. Decision made, he clambered quietly on top of some crates, peeking over the edges to look at what they were doing. The warehouse was dim, making it hard to see their features. Both men were of equal height with dark hair, and they were cleaning. Damian's eyes noted the dark spots on the floor, and he realized they were trying to erase evidence. Before he could do anything though, there was a loud crash.

                "Wilkes?" Damian hissed underneath his breath. Because Abuse was standing there before the two men. His tall form was lengthen further by the shadow behind him, trench coat almost fluttering in the last movement that brought him there.

                The two men took one look and screamed. They ran.

                "Oops," Abuse said bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. "You can come out, Robin."

                Damian rolled his eyes, dropping down from the crates.

                "What are you doing here?"

                Abuse tilted his head at Damian. Then, he shrugged carelessly. "I thought I'd help."

                "Abuse...," Damian didn't have the heart to tell Colin off. "How did you even know I was here?"

                "I asked," Abuse said simply.

                "You asked?" Damian raised an eyebrow. Abuse nodded, moving his heavy form closer to him. "Nightwing."

                Damian resisted the urge to slap his face. "Of course."

                "So," Abuse said and surveyed the warehouse with a critical eye. "Does this have to do with the note you got? You found out what you're forgetting? And that's why you didn't come home last night?"

                "In a manner of speaking," Damian said. "It has to do with Red Robin and a... _vacation_."

                He waited for Abuse to get the underlying meaning.

                "What?" Abuse looked at him, horrified. "How can he go missing?"

                "I don't know," Damian replied. "That's what I'm here to figure out. Since you're here, be useful and help me get some samples."

                He pointed at the blood stains. "Starting with these."

**********************

                "Damnit!" Damian swore. Everything came back negative. There was no conclusive result except that Drake had been there. The DNA matched, indicating it was his blood, but there was little for Damian to go on. Damian couldn't even ascertain the injuries Drake might have sustained. Every single item was common place or natural to the warehouse. He glared at the screen as he waited for the last test.

                "You told someone," Janet's voice drifted to him. Damian was using Drake's lab and only on account of Janet's insistence so she could see him work.

                "I did not tell anyone," Damian replied and tapped some keys. The final results were starting to come in. The evidence was a few pieces of threads, and Damian was slowly breaking down the composition and make of it.

                "Colin Wilkes," Janet said. "You told him."

                "He," Damian emphasized, "deduced it on his own. I had nothing to do with it."

                "You made it easy for him to deduce it," Janet pointed out. She came up to him and looked at the screen where the molecules of the threads were rearranging and compiling themselves. Tension lined her shoulders and back, down to her legs. She was just as frustrated as Damian at the results so far.

                "Tt," Damian sounded and looked carefully. The test was completed. And--

                "This is a joke," Damian said flatly. "It has to be."

                He set the test to run again.

                "Why?" Janet asked. "Is this test a failure as well?"

                "No." Damian shook his head. He was too dignified to bang his head against the console like a moronic man would. "If this comes positive again...this is fabric from my grandfather's organization."

                The League of Assassins had their own rules and conducts. It only made sense with his grandfather's insanity that there was uniformity. The thread was from a fabric that was only produced by the League of Assassins for their assassins, and that meant his grandfather was up to something again.

                "He has taken my son." Janet's voice was full of sharpness as if it could cut Damian’s grandfather with words alone right now if the man was present.

                "Maybe," Damian groaned, hands going to his temples. This matter was giving him quite a headache, especially as it appeared his grandfather was involved. "Most likely. My grandfather has a strange fascination with Drake."

                Janet nodded. "It does seem those of your blood are far too interested in my son."

                "I'm not," Damian started and stopped. He was not besotted with Drake. He really wasn't. "I am better than my grandfather."

                Janet eyed him thoughtfully. "Not much. How will you proceed?"

                "The League's matters are out of my hands unfortunately," Damian admitted. He rubbed his temples some more.

                "So you cannot?" Janet questioned. She looked ready to strike him. Damian shook his head and dropped his hand.

                "The solution is less than ideal," Damian continued. He pursued his lips. "I will need your agreement to let someone know you are alive."

                "Other than Colin?"

                "Other than Wilkes." Damian confirmed.

                "Who do you need to talk to?" Janet acquiesced.

                "My mother."

***********************

                Talia al Ghul greeted her son with a light kiss to his forehead.

                "Damian, how are you?" She asked. Damian resisted the urge to hug her tightly because Janet was there, watching every movement. It was unbecoming and not for public view.

                "Hello Mother," Damian said dutifully. "I'm fine, what about you?"

                "Surprised," Talia said, a fond expression on her face. "It's not every day you get a visit from your only son."

                "Mother," Damian protested and had to hide the smile. Despite what everyone thought, Talia was still a mother. She may not have been there for Damian often physically, but when she was there, Talia was a force to be reckoned with. Though those birthdays did leave little to be desired.

                "You know I miss you," Talia laughed. She smoothed out Damian's locks with her fingers, fixing them. Then, she turned her gaze onto Janet. "And who is this?"

                "This is Janet Drake," Damian introduced and watched with dread as the two women sized each other up.

                "Hello," Janet said, a hand out to take Talia's.

                "Pleasure to meet you," Talia said, taking Janet's hand and shaking it firmly. Their smiles were razors, and Damian knew this was a solution he may regret. "You are quite the incredible person from what I've heard, but I thought you were dead."

                "You can thank your father for that," Janet replied, all steel in her voice. "Not that I am ungrateful. It's not every mother who gets a chance to see what has become of her child."

                "Indeed," Talia agreed. She side-eyed Damian. Damian's chest tightened in anticipation. "I am quite proud of mine."

                And Damian let out a breath of relief. He was afraid he had disappointed her with his chosen path in life. However, Talia seemed perfectly fine with Damian following his father's footsteps.

                "As I am of mine. Certainly, your son is appreciative of that fact."

                "As your son is appreciative of my Damian," Talia returned. Their smiles grew sharper, and then Damian feared they would kill each other.

                "I like you," Janet said bluntly.

                "And I, you." Talia released Janet's hand and gestured for them to sit. There was a moment of silence and some shuffling as they sat down on the cushions. Talia brought out the teapot. Damian took his cup eagerly. Nothing was as good as mother's blend of tea or when prepared by her. It had been ages since he had her tea.

                "Damian said you needed help," Talia finally said after the fourth sip of her tea. "I cannot imagine what I could possibly do that my son cannot, but it appears to be a special circumstance."

                "It is special. My son has gone missing, and I have asked Damian to find him," Janet explained. She had barely touched her tea. "However, despite his efforts, my son still remains missing. It's been worrying that there is so little to go on."

                "What?" Talia paused and set her cup down. "He's missing? How can this be? It has been some time since anyone has been able to take on Tim."

                She looked at Damian, a puzzled look on her face.

                "Drake is quite formidable," Damian agreed, "but not against grandfather."

                "Has he really?" Talia drummed her fingers against the table. "Again?"

                She knew very well that Ra's enjoyed going head to head with Drake on occasion.

                "Here." Damian slid some papers over to her. Talia took them, studying the results of the fabric test.

                "This is...," Talia trailed off. "I haven't heard anything. I'm assuming that is why you are here because you believe I would know."

                "Yes," Damian sighed. He leaned forward on the table. "That is all we know so far. I'll admit that I'm not certain, but who else would take Drake and is from the League?"

                "True," Talia murmured. She folded the papers, tapping them against her lips. "However, your Tim has never been in grandfather's company for long. How long has he been missing?"

                "About two weeks," Damian replied. "I know Drake has--wait. My Tim? He's not my Tim."

                "I told you," Janet said, rolling her eyes. "Your affections for my son is blatantly obvious."

                "Will you quit with that nonsense?" Damian drained his tea quickly. "He is _not_ my Tim, and as you are aware, mother, Drake is never more than two days captive in grandfather's hand."

                "That is why it stuns me," Talia said. "This will take some time. I have not seen your grandfather in a while. I believe it's a good time to pay him a visit."

                "That would be wonderful," Janet said warmly. "If you can find my son, how may I repay you?"

                Damian was troubled by the sudden gleam that sparked in his mother's eyes briefly before disappearing.

                "May I request anything?" She wondered out loud teasingly, and Damian dreaded her request.

                "Within reasons," Janet set. Talia nodded.

                "I want your son."

                "You want my son?" Janet raised an eyebrow.

                "Not for me," Talia assured her. She looked a bit offended at that. "I want his engagement to my Damian."

                "Mother!" Damian was scandalized, and he was embarrassed that he couldn't hide the flush of pink that crept up his cheeks.

                "Please," Talia said. "Your affections for the boy has never been more obvious. It disappoints me you have done nothing in regards to that. He _is_ your Tim if our conversations at teatime indicates anything."

                "Tt. I do not like Drake," Damian insisted. He pointed a finger at Janet. "And even if I did, she dislikes me. She would not approve of it."

                "As if you would let her stop you," Talia snorted. "You're an al Ghul. You will pursue this love to the ends of Hell and back."

                "Fine," Janet said curtly. She ignored Damian's protests. "I am amenable to the idea. Not because of him but because of you. I do like _you_ very much. I should like very much to have you as family."

                "It's agreed then," Talia said and offered her hand to shake on it.

                "Agreed," Janet said, taking the hand and shaking it. She glanced at Damian. "And don't give me that look."

                Damian shut his mouth. He would have seethed, but it wasn't all bad if he considered it. Drake was more than acceptable, and he wouldn't disagree with mother.

                "I may dislike you, but Tim could do far worse." Janet's nose wrinkled in distaste. "It's better that I decide for him before he gets himself hitched to that Brown or Fox girl. Or even that Superman double."

                "We will discuss the details after," Talia said firmly. "I will make the arrangements to see him. Do you want to come with me, Damian?"

                "Yes," Damian said, rolling his eyes. "If he is to be my betrothed, I would certainly want to come along."

***********************

                Damian and Janet followed Talia’s long strides through the halls that led up to Ra’s’ chambers. The corridors were full of twists and turns with traps and dead ends to anyone unfamiliar. Thankfully, Damian had an entire childhood here, and for all his grandfather’s creepy tendencies he was a decent grandfather who spoiled him properly. Thus, Damian didn’t just received sweets and toys. He also received the occasional entertainment of Ra’s testing his ninjas.

Talia didn’t even spare a cursory nod at the guards patrolling though. Instead, the guards shifted out of the way, almost in a scurry, whenever they passed them. Damian hid a smirk. His mother’s strength and ire was not something to be trifled with, especially not after that one unfortunate man who almost allowed Damian to be kidnapped on his watch.

                “Does he know we are coming?” Damian couldn’t help but asked. It had only been two days since they’ve arrived, and his grandfather wasn't quick to grant audience even if they were family. His mother snorted.

                “Please,” Talia said. “Do you really think your grandfather would accept seeing you so soon? Especially since you went off to your father’s?”

                “No,” Damian said. “But I thought--you said something of an arrangement to see him.”

                Talia turned her head to look at him. “Your father’s company seem to have dulled your mind.”

                “My mind is perfectly clear,” Damian protested and shut up when his mother shot him a look. He really did know better, and it wasn’t as if that thought didn’t occur to him or he wouldn’t have asked. Perhaps this is what Grayson meant about sometimes reverting back to a child state when in the presence of one’s parents despite being an adult and normally competent. Damian did not like the feeling.

                “I do like surprises,” Janet commented from Talia’s other side. A dark smile crept onto her face. “Especially when I’m on the giving end of them.”

                “I do too,” Talia concurred. “I really like you. Damian--be a good boy and marry your Tim as soon as you can so we can have a sister day’s out.”

                “He’s not my Tim,” Damian groused. This was a nightmare, and he truly regret introducing the two of them.

                “Hm,” Talia said and ruffled his hair. “Your beloved then.”

                “Mother!” But Damian couldn’t say anymore because they had reached grandfather’s door. Damian squashed down his annoyance and the pout that wanted to grace his cheeks. Talia motioned that she would enter first, but Janet had already pushed the doors wide open. She strolled in without a care. Ra’s sat at his desk, tapping at a laptop that was so incongruous to the environment he surrounded himself in.

                “Your home is delightful,” Janet said, surveying Ra’s office with an appraising glance.

                Ra’s looked up, surprised. There was a small quirk to his lips as he responded.

                “I see you are faring well, Mrs. Drake.” He closed his laptop and stood to greet them as if they haven’t broken into his place or interrupted a thing.

                “No thanks to you,” Janet agreed and tilted her head toward Talia. “You have a remarkable daughter.”

                “Thank you, and to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

                “Hello grandfather,” Damian said tonelessly, moving forward to stand next to Janet. He was only mildly irritated at Janet’s brashness. Damian could see how Drake had inherited her lack of tact.

                “Grandson.” Ra’s raised a curious eyebrow at Damian’s presence. “You haven’t visited me in so long.”

                “You have to understand. Father doesn’t like you,” Damian explained. Although, that was also coupled with a change of heart on Damian’s part. He was almost certain he could never go back to the League and live as he once did when he was young.

                “He did once,” Ra’s offered as if that solved and answered everything. Damian gestured to Janet.

                “You shouldn’t have brought her back,” Damian continued without pause. “She is a terror.”

                “Oh,” Ra’s said thoughtfully. “I thought Timothy would appreciate it.”

                Damian made a face as Talia commented. “That is disgusting of you, father.”

                Ra’s shrugged. “One must have desires and hobbies even at my age. Though I would refrain from being that creature from _Twilight_. Now, what has brought you here?”

                Damian blinked. That was a little more of his grandfather than he wanted to know. He resolved to put a locator chip within Drake as soon as he found the man. That might just be enough if Damian kept a closer eye on his grandfather. More than he already did, but Damian couldn’t risk Drake being lost to Ra’s when it was so easily preventable.

                “Can’t you guess it?” Talia challenged, hands on her hips. There was the distinct impression that she would throw the man into a nursing home and let him rot there if she could. Ra’s stared at them incomprehensively before saying in a mild tone, “I have done nothing to warrant a single hand against me.”

                They all stared at him in disbelief. Ra’s sighed, shoulders going up and back down resigned.

                “Of recent,” Ra’s tacked on as if it pained him to do so.

                “Where is Drake?” Damian said bluntly, getting straight to the matter. “What have you done with him?”

                “I am unaware of what you speak of.”

                “My son is missing,” Janet declared. “And you have taken him.”

                “He’s missing?” Ra’s asked idly. He leaned against his desk and drummed his fingers against his thigh. “How strange.”

“It’s not strange if it’s you,” Talia said. “Really. You need another hobby.”

“I have nothing to do with it though I wish he were in my presence,” Ra’s protested.  Then, he stroked his goatee slowly, eyebrows creasing together in puzzlement.

“Missing,” he repeated. “How can that be? I was sure he was home.”

                “You don’t have him?” Damian asked. That didn’t, wasn’t-- “But it’s your threads we found there.”

                “I don’t,” Ra’s snapped, straightening up with a flare of his cape. “I did sent my men about a week and a half ago.”

He flapped a hand in disappointment. “Alas, he escaped. It’s becoming more and more difficult to ensnare him as of late.”

                “That can’t be,” Janet said.

                “It is. I don’t have him as much as I wish I did. Now, please allow me to show you out.”

                Ra’s called his men.

***********************

                “I’ve wanted to know,” Damian panted as they narrowly escaped his grandfather’s domain. “How is it that you know how to fight?”

                There was a wry twist to Janet’s mouth as she responded. “Is that something you really wish to ask right now?”

                “Yes. Because I still don’t quite believe you are Janet Drake.”

                “Boy, there are many things you are not privy to. There are also some things that shouldn’t be known.”

                “I’m not a boy,” Damian protested grumpily. He looked behind him, but they were far enough away now to relax. He was going to need to send his mother something expensive in gratitude. Pennyworth would know what would be appropriate to send.

                “You are. Certainly, you are a boy in comparison to Tim. Here.” Janet tossed him a plank of wood. She pointed at a little raft about twenty feet away. “Row.”

                “I hate you,” Damian muttered under his breath. He carefully stepped onto the raft. It seemed sturdy enough. He frowned at the murkiness of the water, praying that there was nothing dangerous within. This was a point of frustration, and he still didn’t know where in heavens Drake went.

                “I hope you have another clue on where to find my wayward son,” Janet said as if guessing Damian’s train of thought. “I’m starting to think I should have asked that Superman lookalike that Tim is so fond of spending time with.”

                There was just a little stab of jealous and resentment in Damian’s response.

                “He’s a fool.” Damian considered it. However, the clone did have his usefulness. “But there is something to what you’ve said. I will speak to him when we get back to Gotham.”

                “See that you do. Now row harder. The water here seems particularly fussy.”

                Damian prayed that he wouldn’t kill Drake’s mother before finding him.

***********************

                Naturally, that was a difficult thought to hold onto as Janet followed him back to his place.

                “Hey--" Colin started and stopped as Janet Drake came into view. Her figure was imposing and a blight among his beautifully arranged furniture. It even upset the balance of the art Damian had set on the walls which included some of his own carefully painted pieces.

                “Hello,” Janet said to Colin, voice warm and friendly. She crossed the floor easily to shake his hand. Colin took it, only the slightest off kilter.

                “Uh, hi?” Colin said, shooting a nervous glance at Damian. Then, because Wilkes had manners, “can I get you anything to drink?”

                “Water, please.”

                Colin nodded. “Sure, and Dami--if you could?”

                He motioned for Damian to follow him into the kitchen. As Colin disappeared for the water, Damian looked back at Janet. She sat on his couch daintily, and she still looked out of place. Janet smiled innocently at him.

                “Your place is a sight better than I expected for a boy your age. Clean and tidy. I assume it has to do with him and not by your efforts. You don’t seem to have the skill nor mind for it.”

                “You…,” Damian gritted out. He would not kill her. He would not kill her because Drake would be unbearably sad and might kill him.

                “And those pieces,” Janet tutted, raising her hand to indicate the art. “Expensive but utterly ridiculous. I understand you are an aspiring artist from Tim, but surely you could have better tastes.”

                “My tastes are fine. It’s your eyesight that needs correcting.”

                “Do you care to repeat that?”

                “ _Your_ eyesight needs correcting. I will return momentarily. And don’t touch anything!”

                With that, Damian headed for the kitchen only for Colin to drag him through the swing door.

                “Are you crazy?” Colin asked, shaking Damian hard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

                “What in Allah’s name are you talking about?” Damian shoved Colin off.

                “She’s going to gut me,” Colin groaned, hands covering his face in despair. “Did you see the look in her face? Damnit! Why didn’t you tell me she was coming here?”

                “Wilkes. I honestly do not think she will kill you,” Damian said flatly. It was honestly more likely that Damian would die first if he had to consider it, but it wouldn’t happen. Damian knew he was trained far too well to be killed by the likes of her.

                “That’s what they all say. I’m not going back out there. You can die before me.”

                Damian frowned. This was both unnatural and undignified for Wilkes to act. “I don’t understand why you are so afraid. This is the first time you’ve met her.”

                “You cannot tell me stories about her evil eyes without me not having even the littlest reaction,” Colin replied seriously. He pushed a tray into Damian’s hands which had a pot of tea and a plate of cookies on it. “Good bye. I’ll give you a good funeral.”

                “Jerk.”

                “An alive jerk!” Colin corrected and sent Damian out the door with a hard enough hand it almost made Damian drop everything.

Janet was tucking away her cell when Damian returned. It didn’t look as if she had rearranged anything in that short time frame, but Damian didn’t believe that Janet hadn’t touch anything. Even that short while away was enough for her to do something.

                “Wilkes made tea,” Damian said, lifting the tray high for her to see. He set it down on the coffee table daring her to argue.

                “Tea is fine,” Janet said. Her lips were pressed tightly together as if worried.

                “What?” Damian said rudely. “Was it not enough sugar?”

                “No,” Janet said as if she was loathed to admit it. “You have memorized my preference adequately as much as I would have liked to see you fail. You may be a passable son-in-law yet.”

                “Tt.” Damian continued his stirring of the tea before holding it out to her.

                “I’ve received a call that requires a matter I need attending to,” Janet explained off handedly and took the proffered cup from Damian. She sipped and made a face.

                “Not strong enough.”

                “You can take your complaints up with Wilkes.” Damian drank his own tea. “And I wasn’t aware that a dead woman like you could receive calls.”

                “I’m dead, not unsociable,” Janet said frankly.

                “Those two things are usually mutual.” And Damian wished that was true in her case.

                “You say as if I am the only one to return to life. Now, that call means I regretfully cannot accompany you to see Conner Kent.”

                “Pity,” Damian said though he was rather pleased. He would not have to listen to her natter on about his methods.

                “Quite,” Janet agreed disappointedly. “How can I be certain you will ask the right questions to find my son?”

                “Do you want me to find him or not? I can still leave this entire matter.”

                Janet laughed. “As if you could when you harbor such an intense feeling for him.”

                “I’ve told you. I don’t love him. It’s not--"

                “Did I say it was love? I only said intense feeling.”

                Damian flushed. “What? That was the only logical conclusion of where that statement would lead.”

                Janet smirked. “Of course.”

                “I hate you.”

***********************

                The Kent farm was picture perfect in every sense of the word. It was beautiful with the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Damian almost gagged at the peaceful sight so different from Gotham, but he was distracted as a white mangy dog bowled into him.

                “Get off!” Damian shouted. He pushed the dog, but it only barked and nuzzled its wet nose against Damian. “Get off!”

                He could only thank Allah that Janet declined to accompany him. She would be sure to say something about this event. And this stupid dog still wasn’t getting the message. Damian reluctantly scratched under the mutt’s chin, hoping it would appease the thing enough to let him move.

                “Krypto!” A voice whistled and the dog went traipsing back to its owner, leaving Damian with a disgusting shirt full of dog drool. It wasn’t even a full dog for that matter. He much preferred Titus to that.

                “Kent,” Damian acknowledged as Kent came closer, Krypto floating at his side, wagging its tail happily. The creature even did a loop de loop in excitement.

                “What are you doing here?” Kent asked roughly. He crossed his arms.

                “I have a matter to discuss with you,” Damian said stiffly.

                “You do?” Kent looked taken back. He squinted his eyes at him. “Are you sure you didn’t get knocked in the head or something?”

                “I do,” Damian repeated firmly. “Really, I don’t know what I expected but I need your help.”

                “Fine. Let’s have it.”

                Damian looked pointedly at the farmhouse behind Kent. Surely this imbecile wouldn’t think they would discuss it outside. Here in the open land where anyone could place a bug or use the cover of nature to overhear.

                “Well?” Kent said impatiently. “Do you have something to say or is this a joke?”

                Obviously, Drake needed better choices in friends. They were far too unintelligent.

                “Inside, Kent.” Damian stalked through the grass toward the farmhouse. He had only gotten a few paces when Kent blocked his path, motion a breeze in the air.

                “Damian--"

                “You do not have permission to address me so familiarly.”

                Kent rolled his eyes. “Fine. Now, what do you want? And we don’t need to go inside.”

                Damian resisted the urge to stab him in the stomach. “Do you not understand the meaning of private?”

                “You think I don’t?” Kent gestured to the field. “Tim got it all covered some years ago. It’s safe to speak here as long as you’re 500 yards within the perimeter of the house.”

                “He did?” Drake never mentioned that. Though Damian vaguely recalled that Drake mentioned he had the farm as a safe point in one or two of his back up plans.

                “Yeah,” Kent nodded. “So? What’s the trouble?”

                “He’s missing,” Damian said after a moment, hoping he would not regret telling him.

                “Who’s missing?”

                “Drake,” Damian pronounced carefully. Kent stared at him, eyes wide, and laughed. And laughed some more.

                “Why are you laughing?” Damian demanded to know.

                “This is a joke, right?” Kent wheezed and clutched his sides.

                “This is no laughing matter,” Damian said with a scowl. “Do you not care for him? He’s your closest friend, isn’t he? He’s missing, so help me find him or his mother will kill me. I don’t desire to die by that harpy’s hand.”

                Kent finally calmed down as he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

                “Tim isn’t missing,” Kent said seriously. “I would know.”

                “But he is.”

                “He isn’t,” Kent repeated again. He tapped his ear meaningfully. “I would know.”

                “You’re lying,” Damian said. “His mother--who is somehow alive--is insistent that he’s gone, and I have not seen a hair of him.”

                “I think you’re crazy,” Kent said empathetically. “His mom? That’s not really believable, you know.”

 Then, he frowned. “Oh wait. This is not one of your _training games_ is it?”

                “It’s not a game,” Damian said crossly. “They’re stimulations, and _this_ isn’t one of them. Tim is missing, and I can’t understand why you won’t help me.”

                “Yeah, no.” Kent turned to the farm and chuckled again. “Go home, brat. Tim’s safe and sound.”

                “Kent! Kent! I’m serious. He’s missing.” Damian fumed as Kent continued to ignore him. He could not believe this. How could this alien think so little of his friendship with Drake? When Drake had felt so much for him when Kent died?

***********************

                Damian stomped into Drake’s home, wishing he could slam the door to express his ire. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible in Tim’s lab where every door slid open and close without the work of a human hand. He really couldn’t believe the nerve of that alien, that half-baked progeny of Superman.

                “He was unhelpful. Entirely useless,” Damian announced. “We need to—"

                The words died on Damian’s lips. For Timothy Jackson Drake stood next to Janet, very not missing. In fact, he looked healthy and whole, untouched by any recent fights. He was also entirely baffled by Damian’s presence.

                “Damian? What are you doing here?”

                Damian walked forward and poked him hard in the chest. “You’re supposed to be missing.”

                “Ow.” Drake backed away from his jabbing fingers. “What the hell? Did you hit your head or something?”

                He rubbed his sternum.

                “Do I look like I hit my head?” Damian scowled. Then he turned to Janet. “You are a liar.”

                Janet shrugged as if the label didn’t bother her. “To be honest, I did not expect you to trust me quite so much.”

                Damian couldn’t believe he did either for all that he dislikes her. He crossed his arms.

                “What was the point of that? How did you even manage to hide his presence from my computers?”  
                “What is he talking about?” Tim asked, annoyed. Then he paled as he looked from Janet to Damian. “Wait--Damian. Um, my mom--"

                “She’s alive,” Damian interrupted. “I know, and I wish for an explanation. Or did you think it was funny that I spent this last week or so looking for you?”

                “What? Why would you be looking for me? I’ve been here this entire time.”

                “Your mother,” Damian grounded out, “said you were missing.”

                Drake looked at his mother in alarm. “Mom!”

                “I had to test the validity of the boy as my son-in-law,” Janet said flatly. “Did you really think I would have you marry just anyone?”

                “Mom!” Drake turned a brilliant scarlet. “I can’t believe you.”

                “He did remarkably well,” Janet continued. “I even had the opportunity to meet his mother, and I like her. I approve greatly. You should ask him out already.”

                Damian was uncertain how to respond to that though he could feel his cheeks wanting to heat up at that last sentence. He didn’t know how to deal with the spread of warmth in his chest or the way he felt so incredibly happy. So, Damian turned his focus on a different matter. “But _how_ did you keep his presence a secret? If it wasn’t for that alien I wouldn’t have realized something was off.”

                “You asked me how I knew to fight once,” Janet said. “As I’ve said then and will say again, there are some things you should not be privy to. I will admit that phone call was careless and risky while I was in your home, but I couldn’t refuse a call from my son wondering where I was.”

                “You…,” Damian was entirely speechless.

                “Now, if you both will excuse me. I have a call to make to Talia about the happy news as you have found my son.”

                Janet dropped a kiss on Drake’s forehead as she exited.

                “Damian,” Tim said awkwardly. “I--uh, sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t.”

                Damian rolled his eyes. “No need. Your mother is insane, I hope you realize.”

                “She’s my mom,” Tim said helplessly.

                “Tt,” Damian clicked. They lapsed into silence, the room full of tension. Damian couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he tilted his head curiously. “What was that she said about a test to be your husband?”

                Tim flushed a further red, the color even disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

                “I…I like you,” Tim confessed quietly.

                “Oh,” Damian said. The warmth in his chest deepened further, encompassing and full yet paradoxically light as if he could start skipping in the air. Tim rubbed the back of his neck, eyes down on the ground.

                “You don’t have to say or do anything,” Tim said in rush. “I mean, we only just started getting along, and you’re, I’m older than you, and, and--"

                “No,” Damian said loudly, cutting off Drake’s stream of babble. He would admit to it now since Drake had. “I…me too.”

                “Really?” Tim asked hesitantly.

                “Did you really think I would go through all this trouble? And with your mother?” Damian shook his head. “I expect you to ask me properly and proper dates.”

                “I…,” Tim blinked. He smiled slowly. “I can do that.”

                Damian swallowed hard as Tim stepped closer to him, his scent invading Damian’s nose and reducing his world.

                “Can I?” Tim asked and licked his lips. Damian nodded jerkily before closing his eyes as they neared each other, and…

                “Not before marriage,” Janet interrupted, striding back into the room. “Also, your mother wishes to speak to you, Damian.”

            Damian groaned, “I hate your mother,” and kissed Tim quickly before anything else could happen. Janet grabbed the collar of Damian’s shirt, yanking him away.

                “Down boy. Not in this house.”

 


End file.
